


420 on 5/10

by Diana_Munroe



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: 1994 Prison World (Vampire Diaries), F/M, Gen, Recreational Drug Use, Weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_Munroe/pseuds/Diana_Munroe
Summary: When Damon described his time with Bonnie to Elena, he said "When she didn't talk, she listened." This is the story of how good conversation (and a little weed) can earn you a friend for life, especially when you're trapped in magical prison together.Sometimes it's deep, sometimes it's silly, but this is how we make the ties that bind.This fic is now complete!
Relationships: Bonnie Bennett/Damon Salvatore
Comments: 38
Kudos: 65





	1. Bad Girl Bonnie

Bonnie watched as the smoke from her lungs slowly dissipated into May 10, 1994 night. She found herself almost childishly amused at the way the swirls and twists of the weed smoke seemed to dance with the moon and the clouds above it. Today was day 60 of being trapped in this world of emptiness and nostalgia with only her least-favorite Salvatore brother for company. They hadn’t killed each other, which she counted as a plus and, for all of his eternal stud posturing, he hadn’t made a move on her, which she found uncharacteristically noble. Most guys she knew would use the “we’re the only two people in the world” excuse to get laid pretty quickly. Damon hadn’t even hinted at it. 

Instead, they talked, bickered, planned, played games (he cheated) and basically built a life together. They fought, but after 60 days she had begun to see a pattern to their confrontations. Sometimes Damon was just in a fucking bad mood. Sometimes she was too. Those days tended to be the worst when someone would purposefully poke at the other to set them off. But screaming at each other until they were hoarse wasn’t helping anyone and barely served the purpose of breaking up the monotony. So one day, when Bonnie had come down the stairs, cursing up a storm because everything that could go wrong that morning did, from stubbing her toe on the door jamb to realizing that her cap has slipped of the night and her hair was a frizzy mess, she was surprised to find coffee already waiting for her at the table. 

She picked it up and sniffed it. She looked up at Damon who was flipping the last pancake. 

“Irish coffee,” he said without looking at her, “Best cure for shitty mornings.” 

And so a weird tradition had started. If either one seemed to be irrationally pissed more than usual, breakfast alcohol was on the menu. Sometimes, Bonnie silently just poured Damon a shot and left the boardhouse. It was her signal that he was being an asshole and that he could talk to her when he calmed the f**k down. They seemed, for all intents and purposes, to make this life work somehow, in a way that neither one of them expected. There were a few times when Damon picked on her when, instead of feeling malicious, it felt like pulling her pigtails, like he was trying to get her attention, but didn’t know how to express himself. She ignored and challenged him in those moments, but sometimes she caught something in his pale blue eyes that she couldn’t quite make sense of.

Bonnie took another nice drag off of her joint and let the smoke flow out of her, relaxing her muscles and her overactive mind. Tonight was not the night to think about the inner mental working of an emotionally stunted, 150 year old vampire. 

“Oh, Bonnie,” Damon said in mock disappointment as he climbed up the stairs to the porch of her grandmother’s house, “Didn’t they teach you to say no to drugs?” 

Bonnie observed him from the swing on the porch as he leaned nonchalantly on the one of the pillars that framed the archway entrance. 

“I’ll have you know I got all A’s in my Drug and Alcohol Education classes,” she replied and took another puff. 

Damon smiled at her, “Of course you did.” 

“So what are you doing? I just came here to smoke in peace,” she stated. 

Damon shrugged, “Couldn’t find anything good to read.” 

That was another thing that surprised Bonnie about Damon since they had been stuck together. He was a consummate reader. Every subject, every genre with a tendency to pick up female authors from Jane Austen to Beverly Jenkins. She practically fainted when she saw him with a copy of Night Song. She had read the story herself over a long, hot summer a few years ago, but it was the last thing she had expected to see in Damon’s hands. 

“Beverly’s a little too polite for me,” he had commented in his assessment over breakfast the following morning, “But Zane hasn’t come out yet, so what are you going to do?” 

Still, Bonnie knew better than to think lack of reading material is what got Damon out of the boarding house tonight. He wanted something. 

She held out her joint to him, “If you lie to me, I won’t share.” 

He raised his eyebrows at her, “I could just take it from you.” 

She scrunched her face up at him, “Yeah, but then I won’t tell you where Grams kept the good stuff. I mean, the homegrown herb is good, but the stash from the Bay Area,” she paused and let out a barely suppressed moan, “It’s fucking orgasmic.”

Damon swallowed and tried to ignore how Bonnie’s words, tone and slightly blissed-out expression was going straight to his cock. 

“Fucking and orgasmic? Can’t believe those words came out of the mouth of the virtuous Bonnie Bennett,” he mocked. 

The smile that came across Bonnie’s face could only be described as naughty.

“You have no clue what my mouth can do,” she purred and brought the joint to her lips. 

She exhaled and watched the smoke swirl as she blew it out. She glanced back at Damon with her eyes full of mischief, “You have no idea about my virtue either.” 

Damon had no clue what happened to uptight, judgey Bonnie that he had grown to begrudgingly respect, but this flirty, bad-girl version of Bonnie was really doing it for him. Which was a real problem because he has been trying, valiantly, to stay faithful to Elena despite no clear end to their imprisonment. He had waited over 100 years for Katherine with at least 20 of those years being celibate. He figured he could wait at least that long for someone who actually liked him. Between Bonnie’s unshakable moral compass and their constant bickering, she helped him keep his personal vow. This short shorts, spaghetti-strap, devil-may-care routine was making him reexamine all kinds of fleeting dirty thoughts he had had about Bonnie over the past 6 years. 

Bonnie took in Damon’s silent, slightly dumb-founded expression as her seemingly sudden change in personality. She laughed, full and throaty. Another sound that triggered reactions that Damon was finding harder and harder to ignore. 

“Sorry,” she said smiling at him, “Weed burns my internal filter and makes me horny. That’s why I don’t do it much. Or when I do, I do it alone.” 

Feeling a little more surefooted, Damon walked closer to her on the bench, “Where’s the fun in that?”

“If you haven’t noticed, this town isn’t kind to girls who are confident with their sexuality.” 

Damon raised his eyebrows at her, “Have you met your friends?” 

“You mean your victims? Who you picked off because of their low self-esteem and willingness to use their bodies make themselves feel special?” she countered. 

“Damn, Judgey, with friends like you who needs self-loathing.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, “Don’t judge my friends for being teenagers. I judge you for taking advantage of it.” 

“Me? And not Stefan.Typical.” 

“Stefan didn’t murder someone because he was bored and didn’t emotionally abuse one of my closet friends.” 

“Really? Because I remember the last six years a little differently.” 

Bonnie huffed irritated, “He changed. We all have.” 

“And I’m still the bad guy. Convenient,” he said at up off the swing. Bonnie grabbed his arm. 

“Wait,” she said and then looked up at him, “You are trying. I see that.”

She lifted her joint in offering, “Truce?”  
Damon looked at her sideways, but took the joint and reached out for a lighter. She handed it to him and watched as he lit the end and took a pull of the recreational substance. 

“I’ll say this, Shelia knew her herbs.” 

“You never answered my question. Why’d you come find me, Damon?” 

He shrugged, took another puff and passed it back to her. 

“House was too quiet,” he said finally. 

Bonnie nodded and didn’t say anything else. She had learned that “The House is too quiet” was Damon-speak for he is missing his brother. The vampire could be Hell-on-Wheels, but she had learned that his more vulnerable emotions could be just as strong; loneliness, depression, regret. When he was missing Elena, they talked about her. He asked questions about how they grew up or laughed at one of Elena’s quirks that she didn’t realize she had. It was in those moments that she saw a love in his eyes that mirrored her own. But when it came to Stefan, Damon’s reaction could be more unpredictable. 

Sometimes he’d read Stefan’s journal and draw cartoons or insults in the margins. Sometimes, he’d drag her into a board game or suddenly interrupt her magical studies and get them out the house. A few times, Bonnie knew, he visited the Salvatore family crypt. Bonnie wasn’t quite sure what he did there, but he usually came back quieter, often drunker, when he returned. Basically, for an unwanted housemate, Damon turned out to be not half-bad… and he was good at keeping up with the puff, puff, pass rotation. 

“Tell me your happiest memory,” Bonnie asked out of the blue. 

Damon scowled at her, “Is this twenty questions?” 

“We can’t sit here in silence all night.” 

“Oh, I am perfectly content with not hearing your voice until sunrise,” Damon insisted. 

“The fact that you’re here, smoking my joint, when you could have stayed at the boarding house, kinda disproves your theory,” she snarked. 

Damon grumbled something intelligible under his breath. 

“What was that?” she mocked and lowered her voice in a truly poor-imitation of his voice, “Bonnie, you’re right, as usual.”

In her own voice, she replied, “Aww, thanks, Damon. I knew you’d appreciate my genius sooner or later.”

Damon quickly grabbed the joint from Bonnie’s hand, “You’re cut off. Clearly, this shit has gone to your head.”

He dropped what little was left of the joint on the floor and crushed it underneath his shoe. Having gotten the most out of the joint already, Bonnie just stared at Damon antics in annoyance. 

“You know I can get more right. Tomorrow’s another day.”

Finally Damon sat on the swing and laid his head back on it, “Don’t remind me.” 

Bonnie grunted in response. They both looked out at the starlit North Virginia sky of May 10, 1994. Somewhat content and high as fuck. 

“Come on, Damon,” Bonnie tried again, drowsily, but determined to make this moment of peace count, “Tell me your happiest memories.” 

“Outside of the sex, murder and mayhem,” he joked. 

“Preferably.” 

Damon went silent and for a moment, Bonnie thought he wasn’t going to answer and then he said, “Stefan’s first word.” 

Of all the things she expected to hear, that was not one of them. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” he said, not looking at her and then explained, “I was five. One day I was playing with him, trying to get him to crawl to me and then he just said it ‘Da-ma’. He smiled at me like… like he knew...” 

“Wow.” 

Damon turned his head to look at her, “What?” 

“Nothing,” she said and glanced at him back, “It’s just… you love really fucking hard.” 

Damon scoffed, “Look who’s talking.” 

Anyone who knew her knew that no one loves harder than Bonnie Bennett. Her loyalty was her greatest strength and weakness. It was one of the reasons why, when they were forced to team up, they worked really well together. They both loved Elena to the point of recklessness.

Bonnie shrugged and looked back out at the night sky, “People do crazy things when they’re in love.” 

Damon leaned back against the swing again, “Don’t I know it.”

When he thought about just a handful of things he had done for Katherine and Elena, he knew it was ridiculous, but all he knew how to do was love in the extremes. Maybe the fact that he was stuck here with the only person that seemed to match his over-the-top ness was a not so subtle hint that they both needed to reassess how they handled their relationships. Then, in a flash, Bonnie’s words replayed in his head with a new level of meaning. He snapped his head to her quickly.

“Bonnie?” he asked, but didn’t elaborate. She turned back to him, in defiant silence, waiting for him to pass judgment on her. 

Silent for a few seconds, Damon finally managed to utter out the words, “Oh, shit.”


	2. Bonnie's Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonnie tells a story Damon has never heard before.

Damon blinked at Bonnie a few times as she remained stoic, silently daring him to do or say… something. He really thought after two months with only the petite witch for company, that he finally understood her. He has always known she was stubborn, determined, occasionally clever and most days, someone you didn’t want to fuck with… which is why he enjoyed fucking with her. But above all, Bonnie, the teenage witch, had a good heart and moral compass that pointed true north. Without her to balance them out, their whole Scooby gang operation would have fallen into the dark side years ago… or they would have been killed a million times over whichever came first. These facts were solidified the longer they stayed in this hellhole. It was why he cheated at some of the games they played, testing to see if that moral compass could be applied to a board game as much as a life and death situation.

It turned out that Bonnie Bennett doesn’t fuck around when came to Candyland or Monopoly or even the cheater’s favorite, Blackjack. Sure as a sparrow, straight as an arrow, that was Bonnie Bennett… except it wasn’t. If this night had started to prove anything, it was that Bonnie was a lot more than she pretended to be, which is saying something since she was a witch. Pot smoker. Fluent in sexual innuendo and… if he was reading her right, hopelessly in love with Elena. 

He turned back to the night sky and scrunched up his nose in consideration with a “hm” sound, “Didn’t see that one coming.” 

Bonnie rolled her eyes, “No one does.” 

“Who else knows?” he asked. 

“No one,” she said and then let out a sigh, “No one alive that is.” 

Damon glanced back at her in question. 

“Grams is the last person I told,” she admitted. 

Damon’s face dropped as waves of guilt crashed through his usual wall of nonchalance. He had never really apologized to her about that. Regret was not not an emotion he let himself feel often. People died. Sometimes, he was the one that killed them. But he was a predator, a thing that went bump in the night. It was in his nature to prey on humanity, although he did it more humanely as of late. 

But when he thought of Sheila, her death wasn’t as easily dismissed. Her death was due to her selflessness. She saved his life and his brother’s which was only in danger because he had been selfishly committed to a woman who couldn’t care less about him. He had actually gone by the Bennett house that night, thinking that maybe the Bennetts had kept something from him about Katherine. There could have been a secondary site or a clue that he had missed. But when he had arrived at the street that the house was on, the ambulance was already there, Bonnie was wailing in Elena’s arms and the witch’s heartbeat was no more. Not much haunted him these days, but Bonnie’s anguish was etched into his mind forever. He wanted to apologize, but something froze his tongue. Apologizes were never his strong suit. But he could honor the risk she was taking. 

“Why’d you tell me?” 

Bonnie shrugged, “Instinct, I guess. Something tells me you won’t be an asshole about it.” 

“I’m not an asshole,” he replied, mock-offended, “I’m charmingly cynical with a talent for biting criticism.” 

Bonnie couldn’t help herself. She laughed in a sound that came out more like wheeze. Every time she looked at him, the chuckles came out harder as he somehow added weight and bearing to his ridiculous description. 

“Did you practice that?” 

Damon snorted, “I was born in the 1800’s. A multisyllabic vocabulary is my native tongue.” 

“Well come on, Shakespeare,” she mocked, “Let’s hear more of this language.” 

“Actually,” Damon said, leaning into her just a bit and turning on his smoulder at about 25% of its full power, “I want to know about you.” 

“No!” she exclaimed and scrunched up his nose with her finger planted firmly in his face, “No, sexy, vampy eyes.”

“So you think I’m sexy,” Damon responded, his voice slightly nasal from her finger pressing his nasal passages closed. 

Bonnie threw her hands up, “You’re ridiculous.” 

Damon nodded, “I am.”

He reached in jacket and pulled out a flask, “I also have the good stuff.”

“My good stuff?” she questioned, thinking about the vintage Honey Whiskey she preferred from the boarding house’s seemingly endless collection of spirits and liquors.

“Our good stuff,” Damon corrected, meaning the singular brand of Kentucky Bourbon they both loved from a company that went out of business in the early 2000’s. Both of them were grateful that the bottle magically refilled every night. 

Bonnie reached out her hand, “Gimme.” 

“Tell me more about you and Elena,” he pushed. 

Bonnie groaned petulantly, but conceded, “Let me have a swig first.” 

Damon obediently handed it over and watched as she brought the flask to her full lips. She swallowed the dark liquid on a groan and shiver of pleasure that briefly made Damon flashback to the way she teased him earlier that night. This one was worse though because he was sure she hadn’t created this alluring sight on purpose. Nope, it was all him and he knew he had better get his shit together before she figured him out. 

She turned back to him, a somewhat distant calm in her eyes, “What do you want to know?” 

What had he wanted to ask her before his brain decided to make a pitstop at his dick? Right. Elena. The focus was Elena. 

“When did you fall for her?” he asked, impressed with how smooth his voice sounded. 

Bonnie’s eyebrows rose in thought, “When? I don’t know. But I began to figure out around 7th grade.” 

“7th grade? That’s what 14?”

“12,” she corrected, “I remember Caroline, Elena and I were having a sleepover. We were talking about boys and who thought would be our first kiss. Girl stuff.” 

“I’m sure Caroline was prepared with her list,” Damon commented. 

Bonnie shook her head, “No, actually. She was pretty quiet then. She was more interested in finding her one true prince than kissing a bunch of frogs. Direct quote.” 

Damon thought about it and then nodded, “That does sound like her, now that I think about it.” 

“Yeah. She didn’t get a ‘reputation’ until 8th grade when some founding family asshole lied about her giving him a blow up in the bathroom,” Bonnie continued. 

“Damn.”

Bonnie gave Damon a wry smile, “Yeah. You think we have it hard now, middle school was brutal in Mystic Falls. Caroline’s mom was about to run for sheriff when the rumors started. So to show that she was a champion of morality, she sent Caroline to this religious education camp for “sexually-deviant” teens.” 

Damon looked at Bonnie, slightly horrified, “Conversion therapy?” 

Bonnie shook her head, “No. More like Vacation Bible School on steroids, but Caroline never really told us what happened there. But when she came back, she had no more fucks left to give about what anyone thought of her. Elena was still the star of our little trio, but… this one time I told Caroline that I imagined that she just set the whole place on fire and she just smiled at me.” 

Damon sat back, a little stunned, “I… never knew that.” 

Bonnie smirked at him, “You never asked. And you never cared to ask. You know we had a whole life before you and Stefan showed up.” 

Damon swallowed, “I’m figuring that out… You said there was a sleepover?” 

“Yeah,” Bonnie started again, “Anyway, when Elena turned to me and asked me who did I want to be my first kiss, the answer that came to my mind immediately was ‘you’. I said some random boy in my science class, but that was when I knew.” 

Bonnie took another swig and continued, “You know my mom wasn’t around and my dad was always traveling and so I spent all of my time at the Gilberts. Elena was my person. My safe space. And after that sleepover, even though I tried to tamp it down, I knew it was more than friendship.”

“What did you do?” 

“What could I do?” Bonnie countered, “Being Black and bi in this quaint little town isn’t exactly the secret to success. I was still figuring myself out, then one of my friends becomes a sexual pariah, Elena’s parents die, everyone’s grieving and then you two show up. After that, there wasn’t really a place for me at Elena’s side.” 

Bonnie’s eyes grew distant as she stared at nothing, “At least not without magic to back me up.”

She turned back to Damon with faux-cheer filling her voice, “And that’s my story.” 

Damon reached over to get the flask back from Bonnie, “That’s one hell of the story.” 

“It’s pathetic,” she countered as she handed him the flask. Damon took a pull from the flask and swallowed. He shook his head at her. 

“Pathetic is wasting a century on a woman who still wants to fuck your brother… Your situation is… it happens. To all of us,” Damon finished. 

“Compassion?” Bonnie questioned, “What the hell is in the bourbon?” 

“Tears from all the baby animals Stefan orphaned,” Damon deadpanned and took another sip. 

“Bambi?”

“Yep,” he said and passed the flask back to her, “You’re getting drunk from the sorrows of woodland creatures. You monster.” 

Bonnie let a silent chuckle fill her as she took her own drink. It felt good after letting all of that out. She hadn’t told so much of her story in such a long time that somehow it was a relief the Damon knew the truth. Damon… of all people. She really couldn’t believe it. 

“So are you going to tell her?” he asked. 

“Who?” 

“Elena. About your… feelings.” 

Bonnie’s laugh was loud and obnoxious, “Fuck no.” 

She slapped her hand on Damon’s arm, “You two can have her. And all the drama that comes with it.” 

“I don’t get it. Do you want to be with her?” 

“There’s so much that I want for her, but I’m trying to want more for myself. If Elena told me she loved me tomorrow. That bone-deep epic love from storybooks, she would become my whole world. And that wouldn't be healthy for either one of us… it isn’t healthy now. But I want more out of my life and myself than Mystic Falls. I want to figure out my life outside everything that happens here,” Bonnie turned to Damon, “I’m not done yet and I know where I’m going, she won’t. And that’s ok.” 

“You think you’ll find someone else?” 

Bonnie shrugged, “I’d like to think so, but it’s not about that really. I hope I find myself first.” 

Damon smiled gently, “Sounds like the reasonable Bonnie Bennett has returned. You need more alcohol.” 

Bonnie yawned wide and loudly.

“That was attractive,” Damon commented. 

“Fuck you.” 

“In your dreams.”

“In my nightmares.” 

“So you do think of me.” 

“Damon, get off my porch!” she ordered. 

“You’re kicking me out?” Damon said with mock-hurt, putting his hand over his chest. 

“I’m tired, I’m sleeping here tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“No, you’re sleeping at my house.” 

“Damon, we’ve reached the end of the night with minimal assholery. Don’t ruin it,” she said. 

“I’m not ruining anything,” he said defensively, “Just, come home.”

Bonnie let out a soft sigh, “Why?’ 

Damon looked at her in the eye. No seduction or manipulation in his gaze, just a raw sincerity that she had never seen in her life, “The house is too quiet.” 

For the first time, she heard that phrase not as “I miss Stefan” or “I miss Elena” or not even “I miss my old life”. This time, under those simple five words, she heard, “I miss you.” 

“I’m not going to the boarding house tonight,” she said with finality. 

“But,” she continued gently, “You can stay here.”

Damon smiled at her. It was a small, but sweet smile like single ray of sunshine in a storm cloud. 

“Thanks, Bon-Bon” he replied. They collected their stuff and went inside the small family house together.


	3. Home Remedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damon gets to play caretaker to Bonnie.

Bonnie woke up in agony. It was a cruel, sick joke that she was trapped in a magical world reliving the same day again and again and yet somehow, she still, STILL got her period. She rolled over on her bed and groaned, low and pitiful. Day 1 was always the worst. Had this been normal circumstances or even supernatural ones, she still would have found a way to look present, prepared and ready to go before anyone saw her face. But now that she was living with a vampire 24/7, there was no way to hide the way her month cycle turned her into the living dead. 

Eyes wide open, she contemplated the pro and cons of staying in bed, comfortable, but suffering, vs getting up and possibly facing Damon in the hallway or on her way to the bathroom to get some desperately needed relief. Her magic could be volatile during this time of the month. Even though she had been without her magic since they had been in the Prison World, the chance that she might accidently stake Damon for picking on her at the wrong time just seemed too high. 

Another involuntary clench of her internal muscles caused a groan of agony to escape her lips. A knock on the door caught her attention as she tried to suppress her whimper. . 

“Bon?” Damon’s voice asked through the closed door. She wasn’t sure when the affectionate nickname had started as opposed to the “witchy” or “judgy” nomenclatures he had previously dinged her with, but she liked it. It made her feel… seen and like maybe this, whatever it was she seemed to be building with Damon, had a future. She didn’t quite know what that meant, but she knew that Damon was better as a partner in crime than enemy. She gathered her strength and responded to him. 

“Yes,” she said, her voice strained but strong. 

“Are you being tortured in here?” he asked, sarcasm coloring his concern. 

“Yes,” she croaked. 

“Well, too bad because no one else is allowed to mess with you, but me,” he declared. 

Bonnie chuckled and rolled herself onto her back, “Tell that to mother nature.”

“Oh,” Damon said in a shockingly understanding tone, “I was wondering about that.” 

Bonnie looked at the door that was separating her from the vampire in confusion. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she made her way to the door and opened just enough for her head to poke out. 

“Wondered about what exactly?” she asked with glare. 

Damon gave her a small smirk, “It’s not as creepy as it sounds. I can smell you.” 

“How is that not creepy?” 

Damon pointed to himself, “Me - Predator who lives off blood. You - prey that bleeds. It’s a hunting adaptation.”

Bonnie rolled her eyes, “Bye Damon.” 

She moved to close the door, but Damon held it open. 

“Wait, are you sure you're okay in there?” he asked, “You have everything you need? Tampons, painkillers?” 

Bonnie blinked at Damon in shock. Did Mr. Eternal Stud himself just ask her about tampons? She knew he thought of himself as kind of sex god, but so did most guys and they still needed guided tour of the female anatomy and tended to avoid conversation about this VERY basic part of life like the plague. Damon tilted his head at her expression. 

“If talking about tampons was all it took to get you to shut up, I would have done it ages ago,” Damon commented. 

His mockery jump-started her brain again and she remembered to scowl at him, “Lay off. I just didn’t realize you of all people who know about menstrual cycles.”

“Ovulation is a vampire’s best friend. Get the right girl at the right time when all of her pheromones are telling her needs to fuck right now. It’s the perfect time for yours truly to swoop in and help them make some bad decisions,” Damon finished with a lecherous smile. 

Bonnie narrowed her eyes at him, “You’re disgusting.” 

“And you’re repressed, but what else is new?’

“BYE, Damon,” she snarled louder. 

“You still haven’t answered the tampon question.” 

Usually, Bonnie could keep up with the non-sequitur thought train was the mind of Damon Salvatore, but today, she just didn’t have the energy and felt lost is the quick subject change. 

“What?” 

“Do you need tampons from the store? Or painkillers. Clearly, I’m doing today’s shopping trip by myself.”

Bonnie groaned, “I can go.” 

“You look like shit.”

“Fuck you. No one is here, so why would I care?”

Damon shrugged, “I don’t know, but you spent at least 15 minutes in the bathroom every time we go somewhere, so clearly it’s important to you.” 

Bonnie took a deep breath and stared daggers into Damon’s eyes, “I can get. My own shit.” 

“But you don’t have to. Don’t be a dumbass.” 

“I’m not--,” A sharp pain shot through her body and interrupted her train of thought. She clutched the door’s edge, silently wishing for the pain to pass sooner. 

“Come on,” Damon said and pushed the door open, letting himself inside, “You’re going back to bed.” 

He bent down and scooped up her small frame in a bridal-syle carry. 

“Damon!” she objected and tried to wiggle out of his hold, but another wince stopped her effort. 

“See, you can’t even fight me properly,” he said and laid her on the bed, “You’re staying here.”

He bent down beside the bed, his chin resting the mattress as he stared at her petulant face. 

“What do you need?” he asked again. 

Bonnie groaned, but answered him, “‘Always’ Tampons. It should be in a yellow box. Aisle 6.” 

Damon nodded, “Okay, what else?” 

“I’m not a weakling.” 

“You kinda are, right now. But mostly you’re being an idiot. What do you use for the pain?”

“Extra Strength Midol,” she replied, “But only if I have no choice. The chemicals in over-the-counter meds can mess with my magic and body chemistry. I’ve been using herbal remedies, but those companies don’t exist in 1994.” 

“Ok,” he replied with a slight nod, “I’ll be right back.” 

He whooshed out of her room, leaving Bonnie alone with her thoughts. Damon Salvaore, lust-object of Mystic Falls, boyfriend to her best friend, temperamental vampire, was getting her tampons. Somehow, despite the fact that she lived in a world of witches, ghosts, vampires and werewolves, somehow this mundane, yet thoughtful turn of events seemed to be the strangest thing of all. Normally at this point in the day, she would have started studying, pouring over grimores hoping for a hint on how to get out of this hellhole. Sometimes she meditated, hoping to balance her energies so she could be a ready vessel whenever her magic returned. 

Damon did… whatever Damon did. Besides their shared morning breakfast, she didn’t really keep track of him throughout the day. She really hoped he had a hobby other than drinking, but she honestly wasn’t so sure. For all she knew, he broke into the Gilbert house and played Jeremy’s old Sega Genesis all day. Living with Damon, day in and day out had come with all kinds of revelations about him, his character, and the shocking amount of things they had in common. He still pissed her off, but she was beginning to see a coping strategy, a defense mechanism of sorts. Defense against what, she wasn’t sure, but she stopped taking it personally. Mostly because she had figured out that Damon’s worst enemy was himself and what he needed the most was something to keep his hands busy and his brain occupied. 

It was one of the reasons why, even though if she never had a pancake again it would be too soon, she still ate the breakfast he made every morning. It was a routine that seemed to keep him centered as much the routine of their constant bickering. Having someone challenging him seemed to stop or at least pause his self-destructive nature. Not that she was interested in being a one-woman rehabilitation center for a 150 year-old vampire, but the better she understood her housemate, the better they could live in relative peace. Speaking of which, she should really tell him that she armchair diagnosed him with ADHD about a week ago. Not that he’d do anything about it, but if he did he’d have the information get started. He might like the book, “You Mean I’m Not Lazy, Stupid or Crazy” that she saw on one of her teacher’s desk a few years ago. Though more controlled, her teacher had a similar “chaos demon” personality that reminded her of Damon. 

“Hey,” said Damon from the doorway entrance, breaking the silence. Bonnie looked at him, appreciating that he actually announced himself instead of his usual MO of shocking people with his stealthy appearance. 

“Hey,” she replied. 

Damon lifted his arm and showed her the yellow box in his hand, “This it?” 

She nodded, “Yeah.” 

He walked into her room and placed the tampon box and the pills on her night stand. Then he ran out of her room and returned faster than she could blink with a glass of water in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. She looked at him curiously. 

“What’s that?” 

“Water,” he deadpanned. 

“I want you to picture me squeezing your brain right now.” 

“Then I’d spill the tea and you won’t want that. Shelia might haunt you for fucking with her recipes,” he said. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Damon placed the water and the tea on the nightstand beside the other items. 

“The tea is for your cramps. I went downstairs and the grimoire was opened to a page of healing remedies. I used the one with cannabis leaves,” he said. 

“Cannabis?” she questioned and then closed her eyes to clear her head a little, “You made me weed tea?” 

“Well if you don’t want it--” 

“No. no,” she said, quickly backtracking, “I want it. Just… I didn’t…” 

Damon shrugged, “You said the over-the-counter shit fucks up your magic. And since we don’t need it fucked up anymore…” 

“Right,” she said and reached for the tea. She sniffed it and then looked at him. 

“Lemon?” she asked. 

Damon rolled his eyes, “Just drink the damn tea.” 

Bonnie chuckled and took the first sip, feeling the hot liquid move through her body. She let out a deep sigh, finding comfort in the tea’s warmth. 

“How is it?” Damon asked, something almost shy in his voice. 

Bonnie smiled, “Better than your pancakes.” 

“Hey. Keep my vampcakes out of this.”

Bonnie laughed harder and took another deep sip, “It’s good, Damon. You did good.” 

He darted his eyes away at the praise, feeling a little uneasy with her compliment. 

“Well, get better,” he said and moved to leave the room. 

“Wait,” Bonnie said, freezing him in place. He turned around to look at her. 

“Could you stay with me?” she asked, a little unsure herself, “At least until this shit kicks in?”

The Bonnie Damon knew almost never asked for anything. She was strong, a little foolish, but didn’t lean on anyone. He wasn’t sure what it meant for him to help. It was one thing to push her when he thought she was being ridiculous. But her asking for him meant… she trusted him? Somehow, even with everything they’ve been through, that didn’t make sense. But here it was. He gave himself a mental shake. It wasn’t a big deal. She was just asking him to be there like a puppy, or stuffed animal or… a friend. Were they friends? He really needed to stop reading Stefan’s journals during the day. It was making him broody and shit. He trained his face into an expression of nonchalance. 

“Sure. Not like there’s anything else to do,” he said and sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Thanks,” she said and put the tea down, “When it comes home remedies, it’s like waiting for water to boil. If you wait for it, it takes forever, but if you’re distracted, it seems like it happens in no time.” 

“So you want me to distract you? How?” he asked. 

“Just talk to me. And I don’t want to fight. Just tell me a story,” she shrugged, “Maybe something about you know one else knows. Like what I told you about Elena.” 

“You want a story about my lovelife?” he questioned, “Because there was this threesome in Paris--” 

“No, Damon!” she admonished, “I mean something real. Without the sex, murder and mayhem.” 

Damon leaned toward her like he was telling her a secret, “You know that’s the majority of my afterlife, right?” 

Bonnie rolled her eyes, “That can’t be all of it. And even if it is, tell me something from when you were alive.” 

Damon leaned back, “There’s nothing to tell.” 

Bonnie grabbed her tea and sipped, “With all that money and all the influence in this town, I highly doubt that. Come on. Make it good.” 

Damon looked at her as she challenged him with her eyes. She did trust him with her truth about Elena. He wouldn’t have expected that she would basically come out to him. Even though they were all alone, he knew that wasn’t an easy truth to tell and he respected that. Bonnie never took the easy way out. And maybe, just to keep the balance in their relationship, he shouldn’t either. He took a breath he didn’t need and looked at her, preparing to utter a truth that he had only told Katherine on a lonely night oh-so-long ago. 

“I'm not a truly Salvatore. Stefan and I are actually half-brothers," he said and shrugged, "And he has no idea,” .


	4. Easy Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damon takes Bonnie on a trip down memory lane.

Bonnie just blinked at Damon

“What? How?” she asked. 

Damon rolled his eyes, “Come on, Bonnie. You’re a smart girl. I know you keyed in on the fact that Stefan and I look nothing alike.” 

“I thought that was just genetics being weird,” she replied. 

Damon let out a harsh laugh, “Genetics ARE weird. Trust me.” 

Bonnie looked to the side, “So if you’re not a Salvatore--” 

“Well, I’m a Salvatore in name only, but Giuseppe Salvatore NOT my father. Oh Happy Day,” he deadpanned, his eyes distant.. 

Bonnie took in Damon’s mocking expression that hinted at some level of tightly controlled rage. 

“You two had problems?” she asked carefully. 

“That’s putting it mildly,” he said and looked at Bonnie in the eye, “Giuseppe was an abusive, controlling asshole who liked to use me as a punching bag when his stocks went down… or whenever he was in the mood.” 

Bonnie’s eyes went wide in horror as she listened to his story. 

“Damon,” she started, her voice colored with shock and sympathy. 

Damon shrugged at her, “It was over a century ago. You don’t have to waste your tears on me.” 

“Anyway, when Stefan was born, it got worse, but that was my fault,” he continued. 

“Damon, you were a child. What that man did was absolutely not your fault,” Bonnie insisted. 

Damon smiled at her in a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“It kind of was. I tried to protect Stefan a lot. Many things that he did got blamed on me so I leaned into it. I was the bad son,” he emphasized, “But it didn’t matter so long as he didn’t hurt my little brother.” 

“I told you you love hard.” 

Damon pointed at her and then back at himself, “Takes one to know one.”

Bonnie huffed, “Keep going.” 

“By the time I was 15, Stefan was about 10 years old, everyone in Mystic Falls knew who the favorite son was. It was a rough time because that’s also around the age you start courting, looking for a wife,” Damon continued. 

“And you wanted to sow your wild oats? Play with petticoats?” Bonnie joked. 

“No,” Damon stated, “I was actually very shy, emotional… unmanly according to my father. And he made his opinion very public.”

Bonnie raised her eyebrows at him, “Why would he do that?” 

Despite the fact that both he and his brother were pretty wealthy right now, he hated this part of the story. He thought it made him sound petty and that just didn’t fit with his mystique. Vengeful, manipulative, cruel and selfish was more in line with the persona he had developed over the past century. But something about Bonnie made him feel like he could trust her. Even with the parts of himself that made him feel small. Like the part that still hurt from his father’s rejection. 

“Normally, the first born son gets the majority of inheritance, but Giuseppe made it VERY clear that I would get the least amount of my inheritance as possible which makes you highly ineligible in the marriage market.” 

“He sabotaged you?” 

Damon nodded, “Yeah, but I didn’t find out why until my mother’s funeral. I was supposed to deliver her elegy, but I was having trouble writing. So I went to visit Abigail.” 

Off of Bonnie’s questioning look, Damon clarified, “My mom’s favorite horse.” 

“Oh.”

“When I arrived, Martin Talbert, the town blacksmith, was already there. He was brushing the horse and talking to her about my mother. He told Abigail that he loved my mom, dearly,” he said, getting unexpectedly a little choked up. 

He remembered coming across the scene when he was still so heartbroken from the loss of his mother. She had tried and failed to protect him many times, but the fact that she tried had meant the world to him. They practiced his dancing lessons in the parlor and she hugged him tightly when his father wasn’t looking. He has absorbed every ounce of affection she could give him and he still felt so alone. Even more so when she died. He knew his parents didn’t love each other, but he also knew his mother had no choice in the matter. Giuseppe provided a comfortable living under an iron fist. Hearing that someone actually loved his mother besides he and brother was comforting somehow, but also very strange because as far as he knew at the time, his mother had no reason to know the blacksmith so intimately. 

“I questioned him,” Damon continued, “And eventually, the whole story spilled out. He had met my mother while her wedding was being planned. He had been employed to shoe the horses, create fixtures, basically help to make it a grand affair. But he had noticed that my mother was sad, almost the entire time. He was kind to her and apparently she kept finding excuses to go see him. That grew into an affair and… here I am.” 

“Wow. And Giuseppe knew you weren’t his son,” Bonnie said. 

“Exactly. I didn’t know until that moment. And suddenly everything made sense. It was all so much, I ended up missing my mother’s funeral. I was at her burial, but it was the first time. I wasn’t there for Stefan when he needed me,” Damon commented self-deprecatingly. 

Bonnie leaned over and grabbed Damon’s hand, silently giving him her support. He just stared at their hands. The last time she had touched him like that, they were being hit by blinding light as the Other Side crashed down around them. He felt the care and concern in her touch that threw him a bit off-kilter. Part of him didn’t understand how Bonnie of all people could bring this side out of him. He really thought he had buried that sensitive 15 year-old kid inside of him a long time ago. But here he was, not pulling away from the compassion that Bonnie offered him. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, but he let go, finally looking at her. 

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” he said, trying to put some of the devil-may-care back into his voice, “I’m still an asshole.” 

Bonnie smiled, “I know.” 

“Did it work?” he asked suddenly, “Are you still in pain?” 

Bonnie closed her eyes and did a quick self-examination, “It’s better. Thank you for sharing your story with me.” 

“No problem,” he said and rose off the bed.

Bonnie watched as he walked away and couldn’t stop herself from asking one more question. 

“Is that why you fell in love with Katherine?” 

Damon turned back to her, “What do you mean?” 

“Katherine’s a bitch. Immortal sex god Damon Salvatore would’ve have never given her the time of day especially if he knew she was with his brother at the same time. But sensitive, scared, rejected, insecure Damon, he…” 

Damon smiled at her sadly, “Was easy prey.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said in empathy. 

Damon looked at her consideringly, “You know, Bonnie, you have been a pain in the ass ever since we met.” 

Bonnie grunted, annoyed that he seemed to be smacking away the kindness she had just offered him. He walked closer to her side. 

“You argued with me, challenged me, wouldn’t back down. Even before you got your power. Even when you were scared of me, you couldn’t be cowed down,” he said and looked down at her, “Probably why I like arguing with you so much.” 

Bonnie looked up at him, “You like arguing with me?” 

Damon shrugged, “No one else puts up as good of a fight. I mean no one else is here, but I admire that fight in you. Wish I had it when I was human.” 

“Grams said it was the Bennett stubborn streak.” 

Damon nodded in agreement, “Emily had it. She liked to fight with me too.” 

Bonnie looked at him, confused, “You fought with Emily?” 

“Not fought so much as she liked to put me in my place. I was only a baby vamp after all,” he said. 

Bonnie sat up straighter, excited, “Please continue.” 

“No. You are clearly feeling better. You don’t need me anymore,” he said and finally walked out, closing the door behind him. 

“Thank you for everything,” Bonnie said to the shut wooden door, knowing Damon could hear her. 

Halfway down the stairs, he smiled to himself. Once in a very long while, he did good.


	5. Rough Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damon And Bonnie have an intense breakfast

Bonnie came downstairs to the sound of TLC’s “What About Your Friends” filling the boarding house. She made her way to the kitchen, she saw Damon finishing two stacks of pancakes while lip-syncing to the early 90’s tune. While he was never shy about dancing to the music he enjoyed, he seemed to be a little more enthusiastic this morning. Bonnie folded her arms and looked at him. 

“You’re cheerful this morning.” 

Damon looked up and gave her a bright smile, “Bon! You’re up! Join the party.” 

Bonnie looked at him skeptically, “Okay, now I’m scared.” 

She walked up to him and he continued to dance around his short stack of pancakes. She reached up and grabbed his face, forcing him to look her in the eye. 

“Hey!” he protested. 

“Shut up,” she said and noted his blown irises that seemed to darken his normally pale blue eyes to a steely gray.

She scoffed at him, “You’re high. At 9 am?”

He shrugged, “Something’s gotta keep this place halfway interesting. Now if you’ll excuse me, my batter’s burning.”

He flipped his last pancake over the stove with a flourish and Bonnie couldn’t help, but let out a small smile at his antics. Overdramatic, ridiculous Damon didn’t make many appearances, but when he did, she did like the company. At least it beat overdramatic, cynical, broody, bad-mood Damon who was her companion more often than not. 

She looked at the pancakes that were finished suspiciously. Getting a fork from the table, she took a small, cautious bite. 

“Hey!” Damon said offended, “Wait till I serve you.” 

Bonnie looked at him with narrowed eyes, “Pot Pancakes?” 

“What?” 

“Did you make any normal pancakes this morning?” 

“Yes,” he snorted at her and darted his eyes to the side, “I just ate them while I was cooking.” 

“Damon!”

“What? You said you hated my pancakes anyway. This adds variety,” he proclaimed. 

Bonnie rolled her eyes at him, “You’re ridiculous. I’m having cereal.” 

“Cereal?!” Damon said in mock offense and then grabbed the plate with the pancakes. He moved sinuously and he rolled his hips taking the plate to the table, “Why have cereal when you could have this warm, buttery, fluffy, just off the stove--” 

“Oh my God, would you stop sexualizing the pancakes!!” 

Damon placed the plate on the table and smiled at her as he took his seat. 

“I did nothing of the sort. But does my little witch have sex on the brain this morning? Please, tell me about it,” he said and fluttered his lashes at her. 

“What’s a six-letter word for ‘Kill me now’,” she muttered. 

“Still not funny. But come on, Bonnie, eat the pancakes. I didn’t put too much in. The high will last for 2 hours, maybe 3. Still, more than enough time to get your witchy studies. It might even help. Seeing those old spells in new ways,” he suggested. 

She scowled at him, but it did make a “Damon” sort-of sense. She felt like she had hit a bit of a roadblock lately. Maybe some outside intervention wouldn’t totally suck. She lifted her place. 

“One,” she announced. 

Damon smiled, inwardly gloating that he had convinced Bonnie to do something. His wins with her were rare so he reveled in it. 

Bonnie ate her pancake, considering the flavors she tasted on her tongue. It wasn’t bad. She looked at Damon as he was very seriously NOT looking at her. That was another thing she learned about him. For all of his “the world can f**k off” attitude and “I’m loving being the bad guy” shenanigans, he craved approval. As evidenced by his newfound love for flannel. She had made one comment about how his shirt brightened up the place instead of his usual doom and gloom black tees and now she couldn’t get him out of them… not that she was trying to get him out of his clothes. She needed a mental gear shift and fast. 

“Did you own slaves?” she asked out of the blue. 

Damon nearly choked on his pancake, “What?” 

Bonnie shrugged. 

“I was just thinking. This house, this town. I mean Elena even told me you fought for the Confederacy. It’s funny how this town is all about nostalgia and ‘Founding families’ and no one likes to mention that it was built on the work, labor, and rape of Black bodies. Just sayin’,” she said and took another bite of her pancake. 

“This is how we’re starting this morning. Seriously?”

Bonnie raised her eyebrows at him, “You wanted me to eat your damn pancake.” 

“Wow. Way to kill my buzz.” 

“It’s a simple question, Damon. All of this wealth didn’t just appear.” 

He thought about not answering, but this was Bonnie and it wasn’t like there was anything else to distract them. She would annoy him about this until she got answers. They had nothing, but time. 

“Yes,” he admitted, “But they were mostly house staff.” 

Bonnie tilted her head at him, “You pay staff. They were people you owned.” 

“Fair point,” he replied, acknowledging, but not liking at all this topic of conversation. It was strange that for all the sins he had committed in his very checkered past, this topic was the one that made him the most squirmy. He had basically terrorized the entire town of Mystic Fall when he returned six years ago and yet, the fact that he participated in something that was socially acceptable at the time made him feel like a stone of regret had settled in his gut. Normally, he didn’t waste his time with regrets over things he couldn’t change, but sitting across from Bonnie, a direct descendent of a black woman that he knew at the time, he didn’t feel like he could shake this emotion off. They had established this code of honesty with each other in their time together and, despite him feeling more uncomfortable than he had felt in decades, he wasn’t about to break their unwritten rule. 

“We were…,” he started and then amended it, “I was a slave owner.”

Bonnie nodded and took a sip of her coffee. 

“What was that like?” she asked, “Owning people. Did you see them as people or just property, like a cow or sheep?” 

Damon looked at Bonnie and wondered how the fuck his morning turned into this. He wasn’t going to try and justify slavery, but it felt impossible to explain the mentality that he and everyone he had known had over a century ago when they thought their “way of life” was worth fighting for. He had lived, for lack of a better term, through the century of aftermath where arguments over the nobility of the Southern cause were raised and challenged, sometimes with the idea that slavery was a side effect or afterthought of the war instead of the main cause. He had been a young man then, taught to believe the world as it had been presented to him. A world where the place of enslaved Black people was at his feet and where men like him were elevated. The exceptions were few and far in-between and he mostly fell in line since his household was volatile enough as it was. 

“Bonnie,” Damon started, “Black women raised Stefan and I. Slaves were in and out of our household all the time so I didn’t really think about it as anything strange or different, it was just our life. But the empathy for individuals gets trained out of you.” 

He thought about it some more and sighed, the weed finally catching up with this mind, making him feel almost poetic. 

“It’s a little like when vampires turn off our humanity when we can’t deal with the guilt. That’s what being a slaveowner feels like. When you don’t feel for people, they just become pieces on a chessboard, things you move and manipulate for power, access, money, or position,” Damon took a breath and continued, “Despite our family name, I was too young to wield much personal power. I saw what Guiseppe did to keep his power and position. It was ugly, but that was how he kept his standing and wealth.” 

Bonnie nodded and asked.“How did the Salvatores make money anyway? It’s not like you had a plantation.” 

“True,” Damon said, “My family made their fortune in shipping.”

“Shipping?” Bonnie questioned and then a nauseating feeling came over her as couldn’t stop herself from asking the next question, “What did they ship?”

Damon swallowed and looked her in the eye, not hiding from this harsh truth, “Indigo, Tobacco, and People.” 

“Slave ships!” she exclaimed and pushed herself away from the table. She got up and started to pace along the kitchen table, processing the new information. She stopped and looked at him again, her face mixture of shock and disgust, “Your family got rich off of slave ships!!”

Damon just sat there, oddly calm in the face of her building rage, “Yes.” 

Bonnie stopped it in the middle of the kitchen and looked at the material wealth of the house surrounding, “So this, all of this, was built and paid for because your family, your father invested in putting people that look like me in chains.”

Damon straightened up and returned her steely gaze.

“Not my father,” he reminded her. 

She snickered at him in a way that sounded almost like a curse itself. 

“This is not the time for semantics, Salvatore,” she said, emphasizing his last name as if all the weight and history that one word carried could be made physical and hurled at him like a stake to the heart. 

“I’ve got to get out here,” she announced and marched out, leaving the rest of her pancakes untouched.


	6. The Past Speaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past has a lot to say to both Damon and Bonnie.

Bonnie sat crossed legged in her grandmother’s backyard trying to center her mind. With the light scent of lavender filling her nose, she concentrated on her breathing, attempting to commune with the sky, air and earth around her. Unfortunately, bits and pieces of her conversation with Damon kept interrupting her thoughts. Part of her knew she shouldn’t have pushed, that she didn’t really want the answers, but the stronger side of her needed to know. In these three months with Damon, they had grown impossibly closer. Unexpectedly, she thought her growing friendship with the vampire could develop into something deep and lasting, but for that to happen, she needed these questions about his past answered. 

Part of the magic of Mystic Falls was the present, the past and the future interacted in frequent and unpredictable ways. Spells that were laid down centuries ago remained active. Workings from the future reached into the present day for power or clarity. With all of the historic knowledge that formed the basis of the town she lived in, it was important that she knew where she stood in the flow of a time, energy and magic. And if this relationship with Damon was going to grow into something more than occasional allies in times of need, she needed to know she could depend on him. She needed to know if he could love someone for 145 years, what else did he carry from the period her Grams called “Slavery Times”. 

The Bennetts, she knew, had always been free, having migrated from Salem, Massachusetts, but they married in the slave families and had children with former slaves. That blood ran through her veins as well. Bonnie thought about the stories that her Grams had told her, some passed down through the generations about working on farms, cleaning white people’s houses, hiding their magical gifts and simply about survival as a Black woman in Virginia. She thought about a painting she had seen in school called “Virginian Luxuries” that showed a slave-owner kissing an enslaved woman on one side of the panel and beating an enslaved man on the other side. When she had first seen it, it was history; far removed from the reality that she lived it. Sure she lived in the same state, but the painting, while disturbing, could be ignored especially since no one else seemed to have the same visceral experience she did. 

But her history was Damon’s childhood. The lineage that she carried in her veins were people that he knew and interacted with and could have possibly threatened. It wasn’t that she blamed Damon for the existence of slavery or being born in a time where that was commonplace. She knew he couldn’t control that, but the wealth that he and Stefan occasional flaunted around town was built on this history. The money that allowed them access to make problems go away or hide the evidence of their existence was founded in this past of opulence and oppression. As their frequent ally, it was something that she had to come to grips with as well. 

“Did you find your answers yet?” asked a warm feminine voice. 

Bonnie looked up and saw Emily staring down at her, in a simple dress and long knitted wrap around her shoulders. She smiled up at her. 

“Hi Emily,” she said softly. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Emily replied gently, “May sit with you?” 

Bonnie nodded and made space for the spirit beside her. 

“How did you get here?” Bonnie asked. 

Emily gave her a small smirk that Bonnie recognized on her own face, “Child, you called me.” 

“I mean--” 

“I know what you mean. This place was built with Sheila’s magic so I can move through it pretty easily,” she replied 

Bonnie looked at her ancestor, who was almost regal in her baring. A part of her wanted to take this as sign that her magic has returned, but something stopped her from fully embracing that idea. She didn't feel the hum of energy flowing through her veins nor did the elements speak to her. She was just talking to someone from the great beyond which could also be done if they wanted to talk to you in return. No extra magic required. 

“My magic isn’t back yet, is it?” 

“No,” Emily said regretfully, “This is just a visit for the questions you have right now.”

Bonnie took a breath, trying to not be disappointed that Emily confirmed what she already knew. She did have questions. She wanted to know about what Mystic Falls was like when Emily was alive. She wanted to know if she had ever been hurt, but most of all, she wanted to know if Emily carried the resentment and anger that seemed to have taken residence in Bonnie's body when she learned about Damon's history this morning. 

“What was it like for you? Back then?” she asked with trepidation in her voice. 

Emily let out a deep sigh. She had visited her descendants before. Mostly, they had wanted assistance with their magic, a hint or guidance for the next phase in their lives. Rarely had Emily been asked about herself and her own experiences. While she was one of the most powerful witches in her line, sometimes she felt like revisiting her experiences did more harm than good. Still, Bonnie had called her in her time of need and Emily wanted to help the young woman as much as she could. 

“You have to remember," Emily started, "I was a free woman of color so I had it a lot easier than most Black folks in Mystic Falls. My skin is lighter too, which has its ups and downs” 

Emily let her eyes go distant in remembrance. There were times, in passing, that people mistook her for a white woman, especially when she was with Katherine. Katherine didn't always follow the rules and force Emily to stand behind her. Sometimes when they were in town, they walked side by side, a privilege that not many Black people got to enjoy. But Emily was also very aware that her role was unique. For all of her serving of Katherine, Katherine didn't own her. It was a fact that confused many, but that they didn't understand their arrangement. Emily was also aware that Virginia itself was unique. The soil around Mystic Falls was fertile, but nothing compared to the large cotton fields of Georgia or North Carolina, or even the southern part of the state. So while many slaves worked on farms, there were slaves on riverboats, some with trades, housework and all under the watchful eye of your master and overseer. 

Emily turned her eye to her descendent, “The women of our line were considered conjure women or root workers by the local Black community. But that’s not quite right. That form of magic is more directly descended from Africa whereas ours comes from Qetsiyah of Ancient Greece through Barbados by way of Tituba.” 

“Tituba,” Bonnie repeated, “The Black witch from Salem.” 

Emily smiled, “Yes. When our family settled here, most people took us for healers. There were enough free Black folks that we could hide in plain sight, but also that my freedom depended on me having papers everywhere I went. But also, if a white man decided to ignore my papers, there was nothing I could do about it. It meant that when I was attacked and a petite, but powerful vampire came out of the dark and saved my life, I was indebted to her.” 

Bonnie thought she remembered this part of the story from Sheila. 

“Katherine,” Bonnie said, “But you played both sides of the fence. For and against the vampires. Why?” 

“Because I was playing a different game. The war was raging, my daughters were hiding in the outskirts of town and my brother was in the union army. This town was very much a Confederate stronghold, whether they were for or against the presence of the supernatural, everyone wanted the South to win and for Virginia to become the most powerful state in the nation. That meant I needed access to everyone’s dirty laundry.” 

“You were a spy?” Bonnie asked. 

Emily shrugged, “I gathered information. Martin Talbert was the union spy.”

Bonnie raised her eyebrows at that, “Martin Talbert? Damon’s real father.”

Emily nodded and leaned closer to her distant grandchild, “Bonnie, it was a dangerous time. Injustice was in the air we breathed, the earth we walked on and the water we drank. And folks like me and Martin did what we could to fight it. Even if the meant being in league with vampires,” she give Bonnie a wry smile, “Or asking the recently turned son of a slaveowner to protect my children.” 

Bonnie felt some the fire that she felt this morning rise up in her at the mention of Damon's so-called positive actions.

“He tried to kill me. Grams died because of him. He turned my mother into a vampire. Does that sound like protection to you?” she accused.

“No,” she conceded, “But the world of the supernatural is complicated with mechanisms going back centuries, if not millennia. It makes strange bedfellows, allies and betrayals." 

There was a practically need to survive as a witch in this world. Being a supernatural tended to complicate one's moral compass. Bonnie was a strong woman and strong witch. Emily didn't want to encourage to lose her sense of right and wrong, but she did think that added a few more shades of grey could help her descendent live longer. 

"I would never ask you to forgive someone who doesn’t deserve it, but you, Bonnie, are my priority and from what I’ve seen, just like I needed him in the past, you’re going to need him in the future.” 

Bonnie took a breath and turned to her ancestor, “Can I trust Damon?” 

“Yes, but with caution. Damon is a selfish man, but I’ve seen more change in him in the past 6 years than I’ve seen in the past century. Old habits are hard to break, but bit by bit, he’s breaking them," she said with a small smile. She still considered Damon like a child even though he had been 22 years old when she met him. He had been so innocent and naive. Part of him never really grew out that and she knew that would come back to haunt him one day. 

"However, he will fall off the wagon and crash hard. So if you do decide to trust him, remember to still protect yourself too,” Emily cautioned.

Bonnie hung her head, “I still don’t know what to do.”

Emily put her hand on Bonnie's shoulder 

“Baby, none of us do,” Emily said, “We are all trying our best, everyday, to get to the next goal and complete the next mission. We try hard. We love hard. We fight hard. It’s all we can do.” 

Bonnie huffed, “That sounds like Damon. Hell, that sounds like me.”

Emily smiled at her, "I think that's why you two understand each other." 

“Bonnie?” Damon’s voice called from from the gate that separated the front from the backyard. Bonnie looked at him. He hadn’t changed from his clothes this morning and he looked… completely sober. She was kind of surprised since Damon tended to drown his emotions. She also saw something in his face that she had never seen before… shame. Her anger was still strong, because she took comfort in the fact that he wasn’t going to try to talk her out of it or gaslight her into thinking that her problems weren’t valid. They were going to deal with this. 

She invited him in with a nod of her head, “Come in.” 

He passed through the gate and his eyes immediately landed on Emily sitting right beside her.

“Emily,” he whispered. 

Emily smiled at him, “Hello Damon.” 

“I… um--” 

“Please sit down,” she requested in a gentle tone. 

As a rule, Damon didn’t get nervous, but sitting between these two women was causing him to sweat just a little bit. The silent between the three was awkward to the say the least as 150 years of history seemed to hum in the air.

Emily looked at Bonnie, “Sweetheart, I know you’ll make the right decision. All you need to do is trust yourself. You have everything you need.”

Emily reached her hand out to Bonnie and Bonnie squeezed it, “Thank you.” 

“Emily,” Damon started, his words coming out thick like molasses, “I wanted to apologize. You were right. I was too selfish and love-struck to see it. I put you and your family in danger and I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m sorry too, Damon. The supernatural world was never meant for you. I’m sorry about my part for bringing you in and breaking my word,” she replied softly. 

Damon shrugged, “Being a vampire is the only thing I’ve ever been good at, so I guess I should thank you actually.” 

Emily narrowed her eyes at him, “That’s Giuseppe speaking, young one.”

Damon let out a humorless laugh, “You’re probably right. Can you pass my apologies on to Sheila too, please.” 

“I’d be glad too.” 

Damon smiled at her, “Thank you.” 

And with that, she vanished, leaving the enemies turned frenemies turned allies to face each other as they were just on the brink of another aspect of their relationship. 

“Hey,” Bonnie started. 

“Hey,” Damon replied. 

Bonnie took a breath, “So this morning was… alot.” 

“Understatement,” Damon agreed. 

“I knew that slavery, the Civil War were all in town’s history, but hearing you say it. I know you, Damon. It just made it all real in a way it never had before,” she said, paused for a moment and then continued, “They say that when your ancestors go through a trauma it literally changes your DNA. It gets passed down generation to generation and between a witch and Black and woman, how traumas are in my body right now? Along with my own?” 

Damon tilted his head to check Bonnie’s eyes, “Bonnie, look at me.” 

Bonnie lifted her eyes to meet his. 

“I have no idea exactly what you are going through right now, but if you want to hear the story, I might know more than you think,” he finished. 

Bonnie gave him the slightest nod, encouraging him to continue. 

Damon clenched his hand into a fist and released it, trying to let go some of the tension in his body. He was committed to getting this out and even though the truth was no longer a death sentence, somewhere in the back of his brain, he was still terrified to bring this last bit of himself into the light. 

“I told you Martin Talbert was my real father,” he started. 

Bonnie nodded, “Yeah. Emily said he was a Union spy.” 

“He was… He was also passing for white.” 

Bonnie’s mouth dropped open, “Passing? You mean, he was--” 

“He was born a slave in Kentucky.” 

Bonnie was silent for a few seconds, trying to process this new information. So not only was Damon Stefan’s half-brother, he was part Black??!!! She took some deep breath, certain that her brain was about to explode.

“Explain… all of that,” she demanded. 

“I told you I met my father when I was 15. When I was 16, Guiseppe started to train me to work in the family business. I hated it and after learning he wasn’t my father, there was less and less reason to try and impress him. So I got this idea that I would run away and train as Martin’s apprentice. When I came to him with the idea, he told me he’d take me on, but he needed to show me something first,” Damon explained. 

He remembered how nervous and shifty Martin had been during that conversation. Martin’s dark eyes had shown with something like pride, but also fear. Damon hadn’t understood it then, but when they saddled up their horses, he had a feeling that this trip would change his life. 

“We took our horses about an hour outside of town to a small, but neat wooden house surrounded by flowers and vegetables. When the door opened, a Black woman, about your complexion actually, came out. Martin hugged her and called her mama,” Damon said, “That’s when I knew.” 

It was rare that Damon thought about the first and only time he had met his grandmother. She was in her late 60’s and still strong. Martin had explained to him on the ride back how he had bought his freedom and later his mothers so she could retire quietly. Martin was still open to taking Damon on, but he wanted the young man to know exactly what he was getting into before he made a decision. 

“When I came back home, everything looked different. The faces of the people who were serving me everyday, I suddenly realized could have been my family members. That if I had been born to a slave woman like Martin was, I would be in the exact same position. The entire thing made me sick, but I had no idea what to do about it,” he stated. 

“You could have not joined the Confederate army,” Bonnie commented. 

Damon looked at her seriously, “I still had a little brother to protect. Even from a distance, he was still my responsibility. I went so he didn’t have to.” 

“Okay,” Bonnie said.

“I thought after the war, Stefan would be grown. I could become a blacksmith, work for my real father and have something of my own. But when I defected and came home, the town had already found him out.” 

“Found out he was Black?” Bonnie asked. 

“Found out he was a union spy. They had hung him in the town square,” Damon stated flatly. 

“My God. I’m sorry,” Bonnie said in sympathy. 

“I couldn’t tell anyone, only Katherine. She was the only one who knew about my history and she didn’t care. She knew the truth and still wanted to be with me. My real father was gone and my grandmother was safe, but out of reach. Katherine and Stefan were the people that I had.” he finished. 

“Wow,” Bonnie said, “Just wow.” 

“I’m trying to justify the past, Bonnie, just explain it,” Damon said. 

Bonnie thought about all the layers of Damon’s story and how everything clashed, intersection and complemented what she had learned from Emily, from Shelia, from her public school education. Damon’s first person account was hard and complicated just like he was. But so was American history in general. But she was a Bennett, she knew that it took work to get to the other side. She knew that there was power in truth and maybe that’s what she needed right now. 

“They really leave all this out in school and the Founders' dances and events,” she said. 

“I know.” 

“They shouldn’t. And I think it’s time to change that, with your help,” she announced. 

“Bonnie, we’re still in 1994,” Damon replied. 

She raised her eyebrows, “I know. But we won’t be forever.” 

“That’s what prison is.” 

“Shut up, Damon. I’m speaking,” she reprimanded. 

Damon threw his hands up in surrender, letting her continue. 

“WHEN we get back, I want to change all of that. The Black people of Mystic Falls deserve to be in the narrative. Including Emily, your father, all the slaves and servants that made this place. They are the true founders,” Bonnie decided. 

“You think Caroline’s going to let you fuck with the Miss Mystic Falls pageant?” Damon joked. 

“She won’t have a choice. None of them will. If they want to play with the past, they should include all of it,” she said and looked Damon in the eye “And I want you to back me up.” 

Damon gulped. 

Bonnie looked at him, “This town, despite everything, means a lot to me and I’m going to need help if I’m going to restore what was lost.” 

Bonnie reached out her hand to him, “Are you in?” 

“Bonnie…” 

“For all your crazy plans, that I’ve done the hard work for, you owe me.” 

Damon looked down her hand and back at her face, “I do.” 

He clasped her hand and shook. Something solidified between them then. A bond that neither could fully explain, but was strong and solid as stone. When they looked back on, that was the moment their relationship really changed. It has been moving forward with starts and stops, but this moment when Bonnie and Damon became an “us”. 

“So,” Bonnie asked after Damon released her hand, needing to get back to some equilibrium, “You want me to get good stuff to seal the deal” 

Damon looked at her in question and then his eyes widen, “You mean the weed from California?” 

Bonnie nodded with a smile. Damon broke out in a wide grin, “After a day like today. Fuck yeah!” 

Bonnie smiled at him, “Fuck yeah.” 

She got up to into to the house. As she reached the sliding door of the back patio, Damon called out, “Bonnie.” 

“Yeah?” she said, turning around. 

“Thank you,” he said, “And I’m sorry.”

Bonnie smiled at him, “I appreciate that, Damon. But I know you." 

Damon cocked his head at her, "What does that mean?" 

" It's means you’re still an ass," Bonnie said with smirk, "But I know you can show me that you’re sorry better than you can tell me and I look forward to seeing it.” 

She turned back into the house. Damon sat in the backyard and closed his eyes, letting the weight of the day settle into his mind. 

“You’re lucky she has a good heart,” Sheila’s raspy voice intoned. He didn’t even jump, just accepted that Bonnie’s grandmother would always have a say in her house. 

“I know,” he replied. 

“Don’t break it,” Sheila’s voice warned. 

“I’ll do my best,” he promised and followed Bonnie into the house. 

The End


End file.
